Liars
by orangeflavor
Summary: "And then a shuddering exhale leaves him. Quaking and tear-laced. If Shepard could look she would see the hand covering his eyes and the tremble to his shoulders. She would see in his face that he lied. He always has." - Thane and Shepard. They never knew the truth could hurt this much.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, I make no money.

Author's Note: Reply to a prompt on tumblr asking for Shrios with "things you said that I was never meant to hear".

Liars

 _"And then a shuddering exhale leaves him. Quaking and tear-laced. If Shepard could look she would see the hand covering his eyes and the tremble to his shoulders. She would see in his face that he lied. He always has."_ \- Thane and Shepard. They never knew the truth could hurt this much.

Shepard wakes to voices. Her limbs are still aching, her eyelids unbearably heavy, and her tongue is too thick and fuzzy in her mouth. It takes her a moment to recognize the sharp antiseptic scent of the Medbay, and the rough cushion of a medical bed beneath her. She is about to release a gruff, sleep-worn groan when she hears it.

"Thane, there's nothing more I can do. I'm sorry."

Shepard stills any movement or sign of her wakefulness, nearly halting the breath in her chest at Chakwas' harsh whisper.

There is a moment of taut silence in the room where Shepard only hears the soft whirring of medical instruments and the cyclical beeps of the doctor's terminal.

And then a low, weary sigh. Thane's voice. "We both knew this day would come, doctor. Your apologies are unnecessary."

"Still, I am sorry. If there was anything I could d–"

"But there is not." A shuffle of cloth on cloth. "This is no longer your burden to bear. I will go to the Citadel. Kolyat is anxious for me to meet the doctors he has been speaking with."

Shepard barely manages to resist the urge to curl her fingers into fists at her sides. Her body is taut with a sharp tangle of emotion she has no name for.

Another sigh, feminine, sympathetic. Shepard can practically see Chakwas' comforting hand on Thane's shoulder, her shaking head, her downcast eyes.

Thane's voice curls around her once more. "Please, do not concern yourself with me. I have known my fate for some time now. I have been…preparing."

There is another heavy silence.

A shift of someone's boot along the smooth floor.

Shepard wants to scream in the empty space. She keeps her tongue caught tightly between her teeth instead.

"Thane, there's…something else I should tell you."

"Yes?"

Shepard's stomach clenches.

"I'm afraid your trip through the Omega Four relay has only shortened the time you have. There was significant damage to the alveoli in your left lung. I couldn't repair it all. If I were to hazard a guess I would say you've got a little less than a year at this point." The sound of Chakwas licking her lips. "If that," she finishes softly.

Thane hums a soft acknowledgement.

"Thane…you could…"

"I will not be taking the lung transplant."

Shepard nearly bolts upright on the bed with her fury.

"That's not particularly reasonable of you."

"Replacing a part of my body will not _heal_ my body."

"I fail to see the logic behind that argument."

Thane sighs in a way that says he has explained this many times over. "Because it will not be _my own_ organ. And what I cannot heal that is of my own is not _meant_ to be healed. It is this body's time. And this soul is ready for it."

"That's so…" Chakwas huffs a tight breath through her lips and then the soft tap of pacing footsteps reaches Shepard's ears. She almost snorts. "That's so antiquated."

"It does not matter, because in the end, it would only prolong the inevitable."

The commander is so focused on keeping a steady breathing rhythm that she nearly hyperventilates. Her eyes whirl behind her lids and she can feel the bright glare of the Medbay lights even in the darkness. She is painfully aware of every shift of their feet along the floor, every expel of breath, every lull in their voices that tells her when they are hurting.

She feels it all.

"Does the commander know?" Chakwas asks.

A quiet breath of hesitation. "No."

"Don't you think she should?"

"I…do not wish to burden her."

Chakwas scoffs and it nearly makes Shepard choke on a tearful laugh. "A little late for that, don't you think? You two are involved now. Quite seriously from what I can glean. She's been to hell and back – literally, I'm certain – for you and this crew. She's reunited you with your son. She's offered you a chance to make something good out of this life and the very least that you owe her is your honesty. Shepard doesn't even know how far along you are, or that we've exhausted treatments, or that you've turned away the transplant, which, granted the wait is still a long one but – my point here is that Shepard _loves_ you, Thane. More than I've ever seen her love anything and I've served with that woman a long, long time, son." A deep breath. A shaky sigh. "You have to let her say her goodbyes."

Shepard swears the whimper of pain that leaves her lips is loud enough to catch their attention but nothing moves in the aftermath. There is only the faint hum of Chakwas' instruments, the ever-present vibration of the hull around them, and suddenly Shepard wants to run. Just sprint out of that suffocating room and _never look back_. To lunge through space like the Normandy does now. To just move. To just…run.

She can't stay here like this.

Not in this desolate room that smells like a slow death. Not with the labored, hoarse sound of his dragging lungs becoming clearer and clearer – and she _swears_ she can hear the blood killing him in his veins even now.

But she doesn't run. She stays deathly still. She listens.

Shepard cannot see and Thane cannot speak.

They are, each of them, liars.

And then a shuddering exhale leaves him. Quaking and tear-laced. If Shepard could look she would see the hand covering his eyes and the tremble to his shoulders. She would see in his face that he lied. He always has.

Because he is _not_ ready.

"I am…afraid."

Something constricts tightly in her chest at the words, the confession, the way his grief and his fear is so simple and so stark that the sudden revelation completely eclipses any anger she has still lingering in her heart.

She thinks she hears him cry.

"I know," Chakwas comforts uselessly.

But she doesn't. She couldn't.

They didn't even know themselves. Not until the words had found air and then it was too late to take them back.

Shepard wonders if she was wrong to intrude on this moment. Wrong to witness the quiet ruination of the man she loves. Wrong to feel fury when his heart is just as broken, just as faltering as hers.

Wrong to think that silence could veil her sobs.

She doesn't realize she is crying until she feels the sudden warmth of Thane's hand on her shoulder as he turns her over, and then she is reaching for him, eyes still squeezed shut because there are too many tears now and she doesn't have the heart to wipe them – but it doesn't matter because she knows him by touch at this point and she buries her face in his chest as he nestles beside her on the cot and cradles her to him.

Distantly, Shepard is aware of the soft _whoosh_ of the Medbay door and Chakwas' silent retreat.

Her fingers dig into his coat. His heavy sigh of apology is drowned in her hair. They cry and they plead and they love like they have drowned in it.

Shepard wishes she never woke at all.

But then, she's a liar, too.


End file.
